


The Trouble I Get

by ClaraxBarton



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 21st Birthday, Fail sex, Las Vegas, M/M, Mandatory Fun Day, Mistakes, Multi, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 04:52:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18439412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: It's Bucky's twenty-first birthday and it's all Steve's fault.A short something for Mandatory Fun Day.





	The Trouble I Get

**Author's Note:**

> NOW new and improved and beta read by the amazing Ro!!!
> 
>  
> 
> Hey, a BIG and extremely grateful shout out to all of the wonderful folks in the Bad Decisions discord who sprinted last night and cheered me up IMMENSELY as well as taunted me with all of the truly wonderful things you're writing. Wow, but we have a kick ass fandom.
> 
>  
> 
> \--

It was Steve’s fault.

 

Considering just how  _ much _ of Bucky’s life could be summed up by that phrase, it wasn’t exactly surprising that the epic mistake of his twenty-first birthday was Steve’s fault.

 

But it was. Steve’s fault. It definitely wasn’t surprising.

 

Steve had been the one to insist they go to the shitty little casino in Atlantic City on their way back from spending a weekend photographing mid-mod motels in Wildwoods for Steve’s Digital Media Seminar.  _ We’re already in fucking New Jersey _ , Steve had said.  _ We might as well get it out of our systems _ .

 

So, they went to the shitty little casino - not one of the high-rise places like Caeser’s or Harrah’s. They went to the weird Wild West casino that Bally’s ran, and it was lame and awful, and the complimentary drinks they were served after Bucky started going on a tear at the roulette wheel were not good. But Bucky did okay for himself - came out of it with only a slight headache and almost three-hundred dollars. So, it was fine. But then he found Steve at the slot machines because  _ of course _ Steve was playing the slot machines. The idiot was wedged in between two ancient women who were delighted to have someone as fine as Steve Rogers to look at and talk to while they plied the machines with their quarters, and Steve- Steve looked like there was nowhere on earth he’d rather be than sitting between the two old women and listening to them saying horrifically graphic things they wished they were young enough to teach him how to do.

 

And then Steve won. 

 

Steve didn’t win almost three-hundred dollars.

 

Steve won nine- _ thousand _ dollars.

 

So, this? Steve’s decision to fly Bucky, Sam and himself to Vegas for the weekend to celebrate Bucky’s twenty-first birthday in March? That was Steve’s fault.

 

And this? The part where Steve had booked them all first-class seats and then spent the entire flight practically pouring booze down Bucky’s throat? That was Steve’s fault.

 

The raided minibar in their suite? Steve’s fault.

 

The insistence on going out to some bar called the  _ Red Square _ and doing shots of vodka off of a bust of Lenin? Steve’s fault. Bucky, the Russian history major, had nothing to do with that. 

 

Actually - this part, this actual  _ current _ part where Bucky and Steve and Sam were dancing amid the crushing press of total strangers and red strobe lights and pulse-thrumming music - that part was Sam’s fault. Because Sam had been the one to insist they go to Tao, even though all three of them were ready to drop  _ dead _ because midnight in Vegas felt like three in the morning because they were from New York, and Bucky had  _ just _ spent the previous week getting maybe five hours of sleep total as he studied for his midterms, and how he was functioning at all was a mystery.

 

Another mystery was how Bucky went from being in a weird - but definitely not weird in a bad way - circle of gorgeous people grinding against each other and him to finding himself rubbing against the very firm, very gorgeous ass of some tall, built blond guy.

 

And that was fine. Bucky liked mysteries. In particular, he  _ really _ liked this mystery. And he was still drunk enough - actually, Bucky was a little alarmed at how drunk he felt - that he didn’t even question his urge to put his hands on built blond guy’s hips and grind up against his ass with more purpose than he had been.

 

Built blond guy turned around, and Bucky thought he was about to get pushed away, but built blond guy actually moved his own hands down to cover Bucky’s, to hold them in place for a moment and then shift them to his ass. And Bucky, well, when someone placed Bucky’s hands on their ass, it only seemed polite to squeeze.

 

Built blond guy turned out to be  _ hot _ built blond guy, with pale eyes and a stubble-covered face and a lopsided grin that did funny things to Bucky’s already funny-feeling body. 

 

They danced together for… a while. 

 

The music and the drunkenness and the lack of sleep and the lights weren’t making it easy for Bucky to keep track of time or his own existence, so maybe a while was three songs, or maybe it was thirty.

 

But at some point, hot built blond guy led Bucky away from the dance floor and towards the bar.

 

Hot built blond guy leaned close to Bucky, tall enough that he had to bend his head and his lips brushed against Bucky’s ear, and Bucky shivered and leaned close.

 

“What are you drinking?” hot built blond guy shouted. “In addition to a bottle of water.”

 

“Feng Shui,” Bucky shouted back, because Steve had told him that he  _ had _ to work his way through the entire cocktail menu before they were allowed to go, and Bucky only had the Feng Shui - some nonsense with gin in it - and the Tao-hito left to go.

 

Hot built blond guy nodded and moved away, leaning over the bar, but he reached behind him and grabbed Bucky’s left hand, lacing their fingers together and shooting another lopsided grin his way.

 

Bucky grinned back and…

 

And it wasn’t like Bucky had never been hit on before. It wasn’t like strangers had never bought him drinks before.

 

But hot built blond guy? Was hot and built and definitely several years older than Bucky. He wasn’t  _ old _ \- probably - but the fine lines around his eyes, nose and mouth meant that he had a few years on Bucky. Also, his biceps were works of goddamn art. Bucky wanted to lick them. 

 

He stared at the sleeve hem of hot built blond guy’s tight purple t-shirt and had to bite down on his own tongue to keep from leaning forward and licking around the circumference.

 

Christ. He was so, so,  _ so _ drunk.

 

Drinks in hand, hot built blond guy led Bucky towards a less-packed portion of the club. It was darker, and plush benches lined the wall, and there was space on one for maybe a person and a half, and- and Bucky did the only thing that seemed rational in his liquor-pickled brain.

 

He pushed hot built blond guy down onto the bench and straddled his hips.

 

The guy’s grin slipped for a moment, but then returned and even kicked it up a notch, his teeth bright white and glowing in the saturated club lights overhead.

 

“Don’t fall off,” the guy shouted at Bucky as he handed over a bottle of water and what Bucky assumed was the Feng Shui.

 

Bucky tossed back the Feng Shui in one long, excruciating go. Gin was  _ not _ his thing. So, so,  _ so _ not his thing.

 

Hot built blond guy raised his eyebrows and then took a sip from his own bottle of water.

 

It was only when Bucky turned to try to find a place to put his empty glass and almost lost his balance that he realized hot built blond guy was  _ only _ drinking water. He realized it because the guy used his drinkless hand to steady Bucky on his lap, fingers curling against Bucky’s ass and keeping him from falling when Bucky reached out to put his glass on a nearby table.

 

Bucky didn’t die, and he turned back to hot built blond guy with a triumphant grin.

 

The guy smirked, and then nudged Bucky’s unopened water bottle.

 

“Let’s see you put that away, huh?” the guy shouted over the music.

 

Bucky obliged him, part of his brain with it enough to know he was being manipulated into hydrating himself, but the larger part of his brain tried to figure out how he could make it look sexy as he chugged down the entire bottle without stopping.

 

He didn’t know if it worked - but hot built blond guy didn’t shove Bucky off his lap, so it at least didn’t disgust him.

 

When Bucky flicked his tongue out to catch a trail of water dripping down his chin, hot built blond guy’s pale eyes tracked the movement and the hand on Bucky’s ass tightened. 

 

“You wanna go back out there?” the guy asked Bucky, nodding towards the dance floor.

 

“What are my other options?” Bucky shouted. 

 

The guy looked Bucky over, gaze lingering on Bucky’s lips again.

 

“You tell me,” the guy responded.

 

Which… fair? Maybe? Bucky wasn’t entirely sure what was on the table, here. Hot built blond guy at least wanted to dance with him more. And his hand  _ was _ still on Bucky’s ass. So… 

 

_ You need to make dumb decisions that are unrelated to your dumb decision to be a Russian history major _ , Sam had said as the three of them did shots of tequila in the suite before going out. 

 

_ You need to get laid _ , Steve had said after watching Bucky do an additional shot of Jaeger.

 

So, really, it was  _ both _ Sam and Steve’s faults.

 

Because Bucky leaned in close and shouted into hot built blond guy’s ear.

 

“My room’s at Caesar’s, and I really want you to fuck me through the mattress. Or we can dance some more.”

 

“I love the mattresses at Caesar’s,” hot built blond guy said with a wicked grin, and then he was standing up and  _ holding _ Bucky at the same time and- 

 

And this was the best decision Bucky had ever made. 

 

_ Ever _ .

 

-o-

 

The thing about his body being maybe 86% alcohol by the time they made it to the suite was that Bucky’s fingers weren’t doing a great job of taking his clothes off.

 

The  _ good _ thing about that was that hot built blond guy thought it was adorable and had no problems helping Bucky unbutton his black shirt or pull it off his arms.

 

“Hey, hey, hot built blond guy,” Bucky said into the warm, slightly sweaty, completely fucking  _ amazing _ skin of hot built blond guy’s throat.

 

The guy laughed, the sound rumbling through him and under Bucky’s lips.

 

“Yeah, cute drunk long-haired guy?”

 

“M’not cute,” Bucky pulled back, instantly regretted the lack of contact, and buried his face against the guy’s neck again. “Baby ducks are cute. I’m scary. My glares are terrifying.”

 

The guy snorted in amusement.

 

“Uh-huh. Sorry. My bad. Murder glare drunk long-haired guy, you were saying something to me?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, and then finally let himself lick hot built blond guy. The guy shuddered, and his arms wrapped around Bucky and pulled him closer. Bucky wondered if there was a way to just  _ melt _ into him. His skin tasted amazing. And he was so  _ hot _ . So hard and smooth and-

 

“And that was…”

 

“Hm?” Bucky licked again, and then scraped his teeth over the guy’s jaw.

 

“Fuck,” the guy growled, and then Bucky was being picked up again, and honestly that was probably for the best because the room was getting a little too tilty for his tastes.

 

Bucky felt the soft, cool press of the sheets against his bare back and sighed as he sank down onto them and the guy stared down at him.

 

“Dick,” Bucky mumbled.

 

“Huh?” The guy looked confused, maybe a little insulted. His eyebrows were drawn together in a frown, and Bucky reached up to press his thumb against the harsh lines. Steve frowned like that. Like his anger had the force to move tectonic plates and his face needed to show it off.

 

“I need your dick. Get your dick out. My fingers don’t work.”

 

“What do you mean, your fingers don’t-”

 

Bucky pressed his fingers against the guy’s mouth and wiggled them.

 

“See? They don’t work.”

 

He could  _ feel _ the guy grinning. Bucky suspected he was being laughed at.

 

“Dick,” he repeated, and fuck. He was  _ whining _ . He was drunk and whining for a stranger’s dick.

 

This definitely had to qualify as the dumb decision unrelated to his dumb choice of major Sam was talking about.

 

Hot built blond guy sat up, straddling Bucky, and unzipped his tight black jeans and shoved them down his hips.

 

“Yum,” Bucky had to say, because  _ yum _ .

 

The guy’s dick looked amazing. On the thick side, but probably the same length as Bucky, and his pubic hair was that same blond-brown color as the hair on his face and head.

 

“Yum?” the guy echoed, eyes crinkling and lips curling, and yeah, he was definitely laughing at Bucky now.

 

“Your dick looks delicious,” Bucky explained, and pushed the guy onto the mattress.

 

“Thanks?” the guy laughed, but let Bucky manhandle him.

 

The guy was still laughing as Bucky crawled over him, even as Bucky licked his way down the guy’s tight purple shirt to his delicious-looking dick.

 

The laughter stopped as soon as Bucky got his lips around the head of hot built blond guy’s thick cock and moaned in delight.

 

_ Yum _ was definitely right.

Salty, a little bitter, a little musky, a lot perfect. As a general rule, Bucky loved dick. So it wasn’t  _ weird _ that he thought this guy’s dick was delicious. But- but really, all Bucky wanted to do was just rest his cheek against the guy’s thigh and have his thick dick fill up Bucky’s mouth, and maybe just… spend eternity with this dick on his tongue.

 

Bucky closed his eyes and sighed. Yeah. That would be nice.

 

He licked down the thick shaft and decided what the hell?

 

He put his cheek against the guy’s thigh and nuzzled against his groin and swallowed down his dick, and then the guy had his hands in Bucky’s hair, and honestly? Honestly, Bucky was in heaven.

 

This- this was the best damn night of his life.

 

Bucky was going to drink his body weight in liquor every night for the rest of his life if it meant getting to end up in bed with hot built blond guy.

 

-o-

 

Bucky was never going to drink again.

 

Bucky was never going to  _ move _ again.

 

Bucky was never going to  _ breathe _ again.

 

Everything was awful.

 

The world had either ended and Bucky was burning in hell, or… or Bucky  _ needed _ the world to end so he could burn in hell, because surely that would be less painful than the actual apocalyptic nightmare that was raging in his skull and belly and bloodstream right now.

 

He groaned and tried to hold himself perfectly still.

 

“Hey there, champ.”

 

That voice didn’t belong to Steve or Sam. Or Becca. And those were the only assholes he knew who called him  _ champ _ . 

 

Bucky cracked one eye open.

 

He regretted everything.

 

Somehow, that minute movement set off a chain reaction in his body that had bile rushing up his throat and-

 

Bucky rolled off the bed, tripped and fell over shoes - who the fuck put their shoes there? - and ended up half-crawling, half-running to the bathroom, and then he collapsed over the toilet and proceeded to throw up everything he had ever had to eat or drink in his entire life.

 

Several hundred years must have passed, but Bucky was still clutching at the toilet, still tragically alive, still spewing his guts out, when he felt the press of cool, wet fabric to the back of his neck.

 

Bucky groaned.

 

“Easy there.”

 

It was the same not-an-asshole-he-knew voice.

 

Bucky tried to turn his head enough to see who it was, but that unleashed a fresh wave of nausea, and Bucky prayed for death.

 

Another millenia of pain and vomit passed, and then a cup of cold water was being pressed into Bucky’s hand.

 

Bucky sat up enough to try to drink it, and he winced as the toilet was flushed - thankfully taking away the rancid smell of his own vomit, but why did it have to be so  _ loud _ ?.

 

“There you go,” the voice coached as Bucky slowly sipped the water.

 

Bucky opened his eyes again, so very slowly, and finally saw who it was that was talking to him.

 

Hot built blond guy.

 

Oh,  _ fuck _ .

 

Oh, fucking  _ fuck _ .

 

Hot built blond guy. With the thick dick.

 

The thick dick that was out of sight, at the moment, tucked back into hot built blond guy’s tight jeans once again, and that was a crime, and Bucky needed a lawyer so he could press charges and-

 

And maybe he was actually still  _ drunk _ ?

 

“Please tell me I wasn’t awful,” Bucky slurred.

 

The guy lifted his eyebrows and his lips twitched.

 

“Oh, god. I was awful. I was the worst sex of your life, wasn’t I?”

 

That many words, and the realization that he had  _ failed _ at even dumb decision sex, had Bucky curling around the toilet again and unleashing more vomit, and seriously,  _ what was even left in his body? _ Bone marrow? Was he throwing up spinal fluid? It sure as fuck felt like it.

 

The cool wet cloth was once again on the back of Bucky’s neck.

 

“You weren’t the worst sex of my life,” the guy soothed Bucky, one hand going to his hair and pulling it back from his face.

 

“Bottom five,” Bucky guessed, voice distorted by the toilet bowl.

 

The guy snorted in amusement and ran his hand down Bucky’s neck and shoulders before he traced down Bucky’s spine slowly.

 

“We didn’t even have sex. You passed out with your mouth on my dick.”

 

“Did you at least get off?”

 

The hand on his spine stilled.

 

“No, dude, I didn’t get off. You  _ passed out on my dick _ . I rolled you onto your side and tucked you in and made sure you didn’t aspirate on your own vomit.”

 

Bucky wasn’t even bad sex because he  _ passed out on a stranger’s dick _ .

 

“Please kill me,” he begged.

 

The guy went back to gently rubbing Bucky’s back.

 

“Nope. I’m a lover, not a killer.”

 

Bucky laughed and then regretted it. He regretted everything.

 

“Sorry I passed out on your dick. It wasn’t personal. You have a great dick.”

 

“So you said. Well, you said yum a few times, so I’m going to assume that was approval.”

 

“It was,” Bucky assured him, memories of said delicious dick warring with the eternal pain of his existence. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Not a big deal. I mean, I’m all for cock warming, but it’s gotta be negotiated ahead of time and, well, dunno how much consent you can give when you pass out because you’re just that drunk.”

 

On one hand, hearing hot built blond guy tease him and maybe - hopefully? - talk through a kink of his was nice. On the other hand, why the fuck was a hot built blond guy sitting with Bucky while he prayed for death and dry-heaved his very soul out of his body into a toilet?

 

“Why’re you doing this?” Bucky asked as he fumbled to flush the toilet again.

 

The guy handed the cup of water back to him.

 

“Because I was young and dumb once. Plus, your friends came in sometime after dawn and told me it was your birthday and I was your birthday present.”

 

“You… what? Are you… I don’t understand.”

 

“I don’t either,” the guy shrugged. “They were pretty drunk. I made sure they didn’t die either,” he added, as if that was a thing Bucky was capable of thinking about.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because… that would be a bad thing?” the guy said, like he was guessing.

 

“No, I mean, we- You- Why?”

 

The guy’s lips twitched into a smile, and he handed the wash cloth to Bucky.

 

Bucky used it to wipe off his face.

 

“Because you’re cute. And you called me hot built blond guy.”

 

“I’m not cute,” Bucky insisted, and he kind of felt like an idiot when the guy grinned. But he also… kind of liked the way the guy grinned at him.

 

“Uh huh. Not even a little,” the guy agreed.

 

“You have a name, right?” Bucky asked.

 

The guy’s mouth worked, as if he was trying to figure out how to respond, but eventually, he just nodded.

 

Bucky groaned.

 

“You gonna tell me what it is?” he asked.

 

“If I don’t, are you gonna keep calling me hot built blond guy?”

 

“No,” Bucky said. He probably would, though.

 

“Clint,” the guy said.

 

“Clint,” Bucky repeated, stupidly.

 

The guy nodded.

 

“Yep. That’s me.”

 

“You’re really hot,” Bucky said, and- and he  _ had _ to still be drunk. What the fuck was wrong with him?

 

“Thanks, babe,” Clint said, and then stood up.

 

Bucky slowly did the same.

 

He couldn’t decide if he regretted the move or not, but then Clint was refilling the cup of water, and Bucky accepted it from him and looked at Clint’s face in the mirror while he drank it.

 

“So, it’s your birthday?” Clint asked after Bucky set the empty cup down and fumbled for his toothbrush and toothpaste.

 

“Few days ago. Turned twenty-one.”

 

Clint winced.

 

“You’re a  _ baby _ ,” he moaned.

 

“I’m not a baby!” Bucky argued, and regretted it because his own voice was too damn loud, and also because Clint was doing that thing again where he grinned at Bucky in delight because Bucky was a fucking  _ idiot _ . And a baby.

 

“I’m thirty-four. You’re a baby.”

 

“You’re really hot. And I’m not a baby.” Thirty-four was… old, by Bucky’s standards. Shit. He had professors who were thirty-four. Dr. Carter was, what? Thirty-six? 

 

“Sure. You want to go back to bed, or you want to try eating something?”

 

“Which one gets me more time with you?”

 

The question was out of Bucky’s mouth before he had even given his brain permission to  _ think _ it, but it didn’t seem to matter because Clint was grinning again, and then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the back of Bucky’s neck.

 

“Both, baby.”

 

-o-

  
  
  


It turned out that Clint lived in Las Vegas.

 

It turned out that Clint had ins with a lot of clubs, and a lot of bars, and a lot of shows.

 

It turned out that Clint was actually really cool.

 

It turned out that Sam and Clint got along too fucking well.

 

It turned out that Clint had an attractive female friend named Natasha.

 

It turned out that Steve and Sam couldn’t form a single coherent sentence around Natasha.

 

It turned out that, when Bucky wasn’t ‘out of his mind, out of his body’ drunk, Clint’s dick tasted even better.

 

It turned out that saying goodbye to Clint at the end of the weekend really, really fucking sucked.

 

-o-

 

It was Steve’s fault.

 

Because Steve was the one who said that they were all already hungover and miserable anyway, so they might as well start drinking at the airport and keep drinking the entire flight home and just… show up to class either drunk or hungover on Monday. It wasn’t like another eight hours of drinking was going to make or break their livers.

 

So, Bucky was already four drinks in, already definitely more than buzzed, when he boarded the plane and settled into the window seat beside Steve. 

 

He stretched out his legs and elbowed Steve’s arm, and thought that, if he had to be miserable, at least he was miserable in first-class and at least… at least he had had the chance to experience Clint’s dick, and really, it had been a good birthday. Near-death by alcohol poisoning aside, it had been good.

 

Bucky just wished-

 

The flight attendant came by their seats, voice warm and flirty as he asked them if they wanted a drink and-

 

“Hot built blond guy!” Bucky all but shouted.

 

Clint, dressed in a light blue short-sleeved shirt, navy tie, navy sweater-vest and tight gray trousers, stared down at Bucky in exasperation.

 

“Cute drunk long-haired guy. We meet again.”

 

Bucky grinned at him.

 

Clint grinned back.

 

“Gonna meet you again forever,” Bucky decided.

 

“Whatever you say, baby,” Clint agreed. “Now, can I offer you a complimentary cocktail? Along with a bottle of water?”

  
  


\-----

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
